


Important

by iriswests



Series: Bane & Santiago International [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Blood (light), Depressive Episode, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Simon, Pining, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, but apart from those three IT'S HAPPY OKAY I PROMISE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswests/pseuds/iriswests
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Raphael tries to figure out his headache, Simon Lewis is busy falling in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Important

**Author's Note:**

> SO a couple of you were asking for a sequel or a series and you kind of got both???
> 
> i didn't know how much i'd love this universe until simon literally started prodding at me over & over to tell the story before the headache, and, well, here we are
> 
> simon's pov is completely different from raphael's. whereas raphael tends to give me the bare minimum, simon enjoys oversharing
> 
> which is why this thing is so LONG
> 
> essentially, this is simon's pov of 'headache', except you get a lot more information you didn't before thanks to raphael. and the writing style is COMPLETELY different because it's simon and simon can't shut up like ever
> 
> it even includes a little bonus 'after-the-kiss' scene thing ;) 
> 
> also!! there is kind of an explicit suicide attempt scene, so if that's the kind of stuff that triggers you, please skip from this line:
> 
> Simon looks down and his heart sinks to his feet. Out his feet, floats away.
> 
> to this line:
> 
> Raphael Santiago has everything. Money, religion, family. From what Simon knows, from what Simon can tell, he has a perfect life.
> 
> you'll probably understand what happened, anyway
> 
> SO ANYWAY THIS PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I NEEDED TO GET IT OUT HAVE FUN WITH IT

Simon has been working for Raphael Santiago for a week.

It’s Saturday and it’s two thirty in the morning, and he only gets Sundays off so he’s out with Clary, beautiful, beautiful Clary, listening to a shitty band at a shitty bar and he’s extremely, extremely drunk.

“It’s cold in here,” Clary shouts over the music, rubbing at her bare arms. Simon wants to ask her how in the world she’s cold when they’re drunk and this place is filled with sweaty people grinding on each other, but he decides it must have something to do with her stature. She’s tiny, both in height and in frame, and Simon wonders if she’s ever even felt hot before in her entire life.

“I’ll go get my jacket for you,” Simon shouts over the music, because he’s a fucking gentleman and he also loves seeing Clary in his clothes like the secret pervert he is, and Clary looks conflicted – Simon can almost see her internal battle in HD and 3D, so he waves her off before she can respond with an “it’s okay”.

He walks out of the bar after five minutes of trying to find the exit, and everything looks furry.

Belatedly, he realizes things look furry because there appears to be a stuffed animal costume convention in a venue across from this one, and he wonders what in the hell that’s about.

Things still look fuzzy, though, if anything.

“Gah,” Simon huffs, scratching at the back of his head. His car. He’s looking for his car.

The parking lot is full and all of the cars look the exact same to him; they’re all blurred together and he can’t find his keys and his legs aren’t listening to him, so they’re walking in a zig-zag motion rather than straight, and he realizes that this? This is his life now.

He’s twenty-one years old and straight out of college and he’s working for a short, angry-looking man who seems to want to bite his neck every time he opens his mouth. He’s getting ridiculously wasted like never before on a Saturday night because it’s the only night he can spend with his best friend, who also happens to be the girl he’s been in love with since high school, and he’s putting up with some shitty band singing about Where The Nineties Went because he misses her, every day, with every fiber of his being.

And also, he just remembered he left his jacket at the office.

Simon swears under his breath and he curses his life and he’s about to turn back around to head into the bar to disappoint his best friend and watch her _freeze to death_ when he realizes that his office building isn’t too far from here, actually, and _yes_ , it _is_ a brilliant idea to head over there and get his jacket and come back and be the Knight in Shining Armor he’s dying to be right now.

His mind is running a mile a minute, but still, he knows he can’t exactly drive in this condition, so it takes him a couple of minutes to finally get a cab to stop for him and he heads inside, all smiles, and asks the driver to take him to his place of employment.

“Don’t shout at me,” the driver is an old man and his tone is scolding, and Simon shrinks. He hadn’t realized he’d been shouting.

“Sorry,” he replies in an exaggerated whisper, and the man rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Damn drunk youth,” he mutters under his breath, though Simon doesn’t exactly think he did a good job at it, because he can hear it, loud and clear.

And he agrees with him, actually. He hates being drunk. He hates the way he acts when he’s drunk. But he’s drunk now and he can’t exactly do anything about it, so instead he does his best to keep quiet for the rest of the drive.

He succeeds, but according to the old man he was breathing very loudly the entire way there and demands a good tip because of it. Simon has no concept of math at the moment, so he kind of just – pulls out a wad of bills and hands it to the man. “Keep the change,” he slurs, opening the cab door and closing it behind him loudly. He stumbles to the entrance and knocks loudly on the glass doors. “Helloooo,” he wails, knocking even louder. “Hello!”

There’s a suddenly flash of light that blinds Simon momentarily, and when it’s gone, he’s face with an open door and with Titus the Security Guard.

“Friend!” Simon slurs, patting Titus’s ginormous arms. “What are you doing here?”

Titus is looking down at him, because he’s taller than the Empire State Building, and he looks amused. “I’m working, pal,” he replies. “Why are you here so late?”

“’M forgot m’ jacket,” he replies, pointing towards the tallest floor of the building. “Up there.”

Titus looks up, then back down at Simon. “And this couldn’t wait ‘till morning?”

Simon looks at him, expression offended. “It’s for a _lady_ ,” he whispers. “She’ll freeze to death without it. She’s tiny. Like a mouse.”

Titus smiles. “That’s nice and all,” he nods. “But you know I can’t let you in here.” He gestures with his head towards the inside, and Simon pouts. “I could lose my job if I did.”

Simon shakes his head. “I’ll be super quick,” he promises. “Titus,” he hisses, grabbing onto his button-up shirt. “Titus, listen to me,” he breathes. “Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” Titus replies.

“I need this jacket to save my best friend, okay, and she’s like, the _bestest_ girl in the world, and she’d probably do this for me, too, alright, and maybe, _maybe_ if I walk back into that bar”—he points to the opposite direction from whence he came—“with the jacket to save her from a slow, agonizing, and cold death, she’ll see that I’m the one who understands her,” he mumbles. “Been here all along—so why can’t she _see_ — _ee_ — _hee_ —”

Titus bursts out into laughter, and Simon thinks it’s a really nice laugh so he smiles wide. “Man, you’re crazy,” he shakes his head and sighs. He looks behind him, as if waiting for approval from someone, before he turns back to look down at Simon. “Alright, you’ve got five minutes,” he tells him, and Simon whoops excitedly. “And I’m coming up with you.”

“Whatever you say, friend,” Simon agrees, and quickly stumbles into the building after Titus makes way for him. He starts whistling the rest of the Taylor Swift song, which is now obnoxiously stuck in his head, as Titus leads him to the elevators. He does a cool thing with his keys and when he’s done, the doors open and they’re inside in no time.

Simon slaps the floor number, and then Titus presses it gently, and the elevator starts moving up. Simon whistles the Taylor Swift song until Titus promises to sew his lips together if he keeps doing it, so, reasonably, he decides to stop.

The ride is a short one or a long one or he doesn’t really know, he’s drunk, and he steps out of the elevator gracefully.

He meant to fall on his face, is what he’s saying.

“Jesus Christ,” Titus mumbles, helping Simon up. “Hurry up and grab what you’re here for.”

Simon mutters something like assent and he walks over to his desk. His jacket is splayed over the chair, exactly where he remembered leaving it after forgetting it, and he hurriedly makes a grab for it. Once it’s in his hands and he’s about to turn back around to the elevator, he notices light coming from inside Raphael Santiago’s office – it’s not from the office itself, no, because it’d be obvious, but from the slit under his private bathroom’s door.

He scoffs. “Oh my God,” he shakes his head. “This man! Thinks he has so much money he doesn’t have to worry about his stupid building’s light bill,” he mutters, dropping his jacket back on the chair. “I’m’a go turn the bathroom light off!” he stage-whispers over to Titus. The other man looks confused for a moment, until he sees Simon start heading towards Raphael Santiago’s office.

“No, _no_ ,” Titus is scrambling to catch up to him (which literally takes him like one long stride, the fuck), and he grabs his arm. “Leave it alone, you can’t go in there.”

Simon’s offended. “I go in there all the time!” he defends himself, shaking his arm out of Titus’s lame grasp. “I’ve more jurisdiction than you do, friend,” he pokes Titus in the chest, then immediately regrets it. “Bricks,” he mutters, rubbing at his index finger. “Look, I’m just gonna turn the bathroom light off, okay? You can watch me through this super-large-super-see-through door, alright?” He gestures towards the divider. “And the windows.”

Titus looks frustrated. “Simon—”

“Live and let live, Titus,” he says, and walks inside Raphael Santiago’s office, ignoring the other man’s growing protests.

He makes his way towards the bathroom and turns the knob, and what should be an easy feat is – actually harder. Simon frowns at the knob, turns it again. It doesn’t budge. He’s not – obviously, he’s not drunk enough so that he doesn’t know how a door knob works, so the only explanation to this is that it’s locked from the inside, and that means—

Simon’s eyes widen. Aw, shit.

He turns to look at Titus through the glass and he waves his hands manically, points at the bathroom door.

Titus looks lost.

Simon points at the door some more, then makes himself shorter, as if to imitate Raphael Santiago. He scowls exaggeratedly.

Titus seems to understand, then, because he’s demanding Simon comes back this instant with his hands so they can both get the hell out of there before they’re fired, oh Lord, fired from his first post-college job, that’ll look _great_ on his resume.

Simon’s about to follow through on this very logical request when he hears it. It’s a groan.

Not a pleasured groan, no, he’s heard those before, he knows the difference, but it sounds like – a _pained_ groan. He freezes – everything else about him freezes, too, and he perks his ears.

A gasp, a groan, and a thump, along with a gazillion things falling and, okay, see, Simon is _really_ drunk, and the best thing to do right now is probably leave, right? He knows everyone can agree on that. Best course of action: run out of there, leave Raphael Santiago to whatever the hell he’s getting up to in the bathroom, because otherwise, his boss’ll see him _drunk_ and in the building at _three in the morning_ and Titus’ll get fired for letting Simon in at all.

But, see, again, Simon is _really_ drunk, and he also feels like there’s – something in there, it’s not right, and so he’s – he’s going to be really stupid, now, and he hopes Titus forgives him one day for this—

He turns around and knocks on the bathroom door.

He hears Titus’s breath hitch.

Simon gets no reply.

“Mr. Santiago?” Simon calls out, knocks louder this time. “Are you alright?”

It’s silent. There are no more groans, no more thumps, not even a scream asking him what the hell he’s doing there.

Oh, God.

“Okay,” Simon turns the knob some more, over and over, desperately trying to get inside. “Okay, no,” he starts pushing at the door with his shoulder, trying to force it open. “Mr. Santiago? Can you yell at me if you’re, like, not dead?”

Nothing. Simon’s panicking now, because what the hell, and he turns around to find Titus in front of him.

“What the _hell_ , Simon?” he echoes Simon’s thoughts in a hiss, and Simon gestures behind him.

“Something’s wrong,” he explains urgently. “Titus, I think something happened to him.”

Titus looks alarmed then, and looks up at the bathroom door. He swiftly moves Simon out of the way, and with one swift kick to the door, it’s open.

“I could’ve done that if I’d wanted to,” Simon says quickly, because he needs that on the record, before pushing past Titus and into the bathroom.

Under any other circumstances, Simon would have gaped at the bathroom some. It’s huge, really, and he’s never been allowed in here, and where does Raphael Santiago get off—

Simon looks down and his heart sinks to his feet. Out his feet, floats away.

Raphael Santiago is currently on the floor, empty bottle of pills by his side, blood by his head and the edge of the sink.

“Oh, my God,” Simon’s ridiculously drunk, and this doesn’t exactly sober him up, but he’s conscious enough to realize what happened in here. “Oh, no, oh, come on,” he kneels beside Raphael Santiago’s limp, unconscious body, and he picks it up. Pulls him onto Simon’s lap.

“Titus, call an ambulance!” Simon urges, and he doesn’t know whether or not Titus heard him and he doesn’t really know what Titus’s reaction to this is, all he knows is he’s got a half-dead boss in his arms and if it wasn’t for the shallow breaths he’s taking, Simon would write him off as whole-dead.

“Come on, come on,” he urges, and Raphael’s eyes open slightly. Simon’s entire heart suffers. “Raphael,” he calls out, but his eyes are glassed over and Simon doesn’t think he can see him, much less hear him. “ _Raphael_ , please,” Simon, for lack of anything better to do, hugs his boss closer to him. “Okay, come on, stay with me,” he mutters into Raphael’s ear, just to make sure he can hear him. “Stay with me, please, stay with me, Raphael,” he turns back to find Titus, dark face pale in the moment.

“Did you—” Simon starts to ask about the ambulance, but Titus interrupts him with an urgent nod. Simon nods just as urgently in reply, then turns back to Raphael in his arms.

“Fight through it,” he begs him, because he doesn’t know what else to do and this is his _boss_ , his insufferable boss with a frown permanently etched onto his face and the condescending tone Simon absolutely hates but this is also the boss he’s heard great things about, the man who cares more for his employees than the company itself, the man who gives bonuses out of the goodness of his heart and not because it’s a holiday, the man who helps his lower-wage employees through tough times off-book and refuses to take credit for it.

The man Simon is so looking forward to meeting and getting to know, and he’s _new_ , he _knows_ he gets the surface right now, but if Raphael’s successful with this – that’s all he’s ever gonna get.

“Fight through it, Raphael,” he urges some more. His breaths are coming in far more shallow than before, and Simon’s starting to panic. “Help is on the way, but you’ve gotta fight through this, alright? We need you here, boss,” he promises. “We need you here.” His hands are shaking but his arms refuse to loosen the grip he has on Raphael, and he doesn’t realize there are nervous tears in his eyes until one falls onto his boss’s shoulder, and he’s never been this scared in his entire life, he doesn’t think.

The next few minutes are a blur. There’s scattered shouting and there are paramedics bursting in through the door, and Simon’s being pushed aside by some of them while others kneel down to help Raphael. “I—” Simon’s about to protest, but a female paramedic speaks over him.

“What’s your name?” she snaps, and it takes Simon a moment to reply. She nods. “Simon,” she repeats. “Who are you?”

And Simon looks at her like, _uhm, okay, I just told you my name_ , but he realizes she probably means who he is to _Raphael_ , and he shakes his head. “I, uh, no – his assistant,” he says, eyes glued to Raphael’s body. “No one important.”

The female paramedic offers a solemn smile. “We’re gonna try our best to save your boss, alright? But you’ve gotta stay out of the way,” she tells him, and her voice sounds gentler than before. “Are you okay?”

Simon doesn’t think he’s okay. He thinks he wants to throw up and he needs to get out of there and he needs to forget this ever happened, but he also needs to know Raphael’s gonna be okay. So he does a strange thing with his head, something between a shake and a nod, but the paramedic seems to understand anyway.

“Hey,” she says, gently. Squeezes his arm. “What you did right now? Very brave,” she tells him. “Not everyone’s cut out to act rationally when faced with something like this. You did a good job here, Simon,” she tells him, but Simon did nothing at all, and—“We’re gonna take him to the nearest hospital, alright? You can follow us there or you can stay here, it’s your choice,” she tells him, and Simon watches the rest of the paramedics pass by the two of them, Raphael limp and looking lifeless on a gurney.

“I can’t ride in the ambulance?” he asks without meaning to.

The paramedic shakes her head. “Sorry,” she tells him. “If you were family, maybe, but—”

“I’m no one important, right,” he echoes his previous words. “Uh, I don’t have a car—”

She looks like she has a lot of questions about that, but instead, she squeezes his shoulder. “You can get there whenever you want, alright? Ask for Lydia,” she says. “That’s me.” She points at herself. “I’ve gotta go help out my colleagues now, Simon,” she says. “But you did a good thing here, okay? You did.”

Simon certainly doesn’t feel that way.

Lydia is gone in an instant, and Simon is left in the bathroom, alone.

The blood on the edge of the sink is still there, and it’s dripping on the tile floor. He’s shaking and he’s shaking and he realizes Titus is gone, presumably to help the paramedics with the locked doors.

He’s alone in here, and he doesn’t know how much time passes, only that the shaking starts to subside and he walks over to the sink, where he notices something he hadn’t noticed before.

It’s an envelope.

He grabs it and reads the front of it: _Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned_.

Simon drops it. It’s not his to read. It’s not. It’s not his business. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration and he feels sick and gross and worried and still, still, he can’t drive. Can’t follow that ambulance to the hospital. Can’t even remember what hospital they were all shouting.

Raphael Santiago has everything. Money, religion, family. From what Simon knows, from what Simon can tell, he has a perfect life.

And yet Raphael Santiago tried to take it tonight.

Simon should quit. If he doesn’t quit, he’ll be fired, surely, but he doesn’t want either of those things.

Raphael Santiago is important to his employees. This company would not be what it is without him. He knows this. He did his research before applying here, he knows.

Simon doesn’t want to run away from him – he wants to understand him. Wants to help him.

Whatever he’s going through, Simon wants to be there for him. Because this – this is serious. Simon may not understand a lot of things, but he understands the seriousness of this and the implications of it.

Raphael is going to need someone in his corner.

And Simon will join the fight itself if it means he gets to be the one there.

**

Simon has been working for Raphael Santiago for a year.

It’s gotten…easier.

“Simon,” Raphael’s voice, as per usual, is deep and composed and like nothing’s actually bothering him. Simon’s starting to know, better, though. For instance, at this moment, Raphael’s brow is slightly furrowed – to the naked eye, it’s almost nonexistent. But Simon’s developed Raphael-Vision this past year, and he can see it, the crease, small but prominent. “Call Vanderbilt DuPont for me, will you?”

Simon nods, already looking for the number in this stupid little cat notebook Clary got him when he got this job. It’s already full, so he got another stupid little cat notebook to back it up, and he’s learned he needs to start jotting things down electronically. “Whaddya want me to tell him, boss?” he asks.

Raphael’s smile is ice-cold. “Please tell him to shove the wedding invitation he sent over up his ass, which is, coincidentally, where he likes things shoved,” he’s completely calm as he recites this to Simon, and Simon can do nothing but stare at his boss in awe. “And the next time he wants something from me, please suggest to him that he’ll need to come out of that cozy closet he likes to keep himself locked in, because otherwise I won’t be able to hear him out.” Raphael raises an eyebrow at Simon. “Did you get all of that?”

“Yep,” Simon squeaks, and Raphael walks back into his office without another word.

Simon picks up the phone, and when DuPont’s personal assistant answers, all he says is, “Raphael Santiago sends his deepest regrets, but he won’t be able to make it to Mr. DuPont’s wedding.”

They hang up and Simon scratches DuPont’s contact information from his notebook. Good riddance, to be honest. Simon always thought he smelled like mustard. Endless, spoiled mustard. Also, his face was way too handsome, and his stupid French accent was annoying and definitely played-up. He never voiced these concerns to Raphael, of course, because that’s none of his business, but good on his boss for finally getting rid of that dirty laundry, because, really. _Really_. Raphael Santiago can surely do better than an older, dirty Frenchman who can’t admit he’s of the homosexual status.

A text pops up on his phone. It’s from Clary, and she’s talking about how her latest in a string of blind dates has been a disaster, as well. Simon tries not to feel bitter or jealous, fails miserably, but manages to be supportive either way. If Clary wants nothing from him but friendship, that’s quite alright, thank you. He can respect that.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking suck, though.

Simon replies swiftly, something automatic ready to go, as if this “supportive friend” stint has been programmed inside him from the get-go, and then he puts his phone down and starts sifting through his emails.

His inbox does that little “da-dun” noise, indicating that he just received a new one, and he it’s a little sad how excited he feels every time it happens. There’s some naïve hope inside him that maybe this time it won’t be about reports or meetings or requests to meet with Raphael, always, every time, and every time he’s let down.

Not this time, though. The name from the sender reads “Luke Garroway”, unfamiliar in both his business and personal circuit. He frowns, confused, and opens it. It reads:

> _Simon Lewis,_
> 
> _My name is Luke Garroway. I am Mr. Santiago’s current attorney at law. Seeing as he has been ignoring both my phone calls and emails, you are my only and last hope. Please tell him to stop ignoring me, and that he is acting like a child. This is urgent. Which is why I have enabled the “urgent” checkmark next to the subject line._

Simons checks. Oh, he has. Nice.

> _I would be eternally grateful if you were able to convince him to start taking this case seriously. I cannot disclose any information about it, but needless to say, it makes him uncomfortable (understandably) and it cannot be ignored any further._
> 
> _Thank you for your time, and there is no need to reply; I’ll know if you’ve been successful._
> 
> **_Luke Garroway, Attorney at Law  
>  (212) 555 – 0129_ **

Sounds like a fun guy. Simon should take him out to lunch some day.

The only thing that’s bothering him about this is how he thinks _Simon_ , of all people, is going to be able to convince Raphael of _anything_. Listen, he’s lucky he wasn’t fired after _The Incident_. The same can’t be said for Titus, poor guy, Simon will always be sorry about that (not that Titus cares – he ignores all of Simon’s attempts to reach out, but, well, Simon gets why). But the point is, Raphael only listens to Simon about two things: one, about his psychiatry appointments, and two, about taking the pills his psychiatrist prescribed for him.

And honestly, Simon thinks the only reason Raphael even listens to him about this is because he’s truly the only person who _knows_ , and that’s also because Simon kind of insisted for a couple of months that he get help and he guesses he’s more convincing than he gives himself credit for, because Raphael eventually caved.

Apart from that, their relationship kind of borders between professional and, like, _acquaintances_ , maybe, but definitely not something in which Simon can easily convince Raphael to do anything he doesn’t want to.

But this Luke guy exudes an air of dominance even through email, so he’s kind of scared to not at least try for fear that he’ll somehow _know_ and want to kill Simon in his sleep.

So, with a deep exhale, Simon rises from his desk chair and knocks on Raphael’s already-open door. “Raphael?”

“Mr. Santiago,” Raphael reminds him, deadpan, and he doesn’t even bother looking up at Simon. He’s writing over something with red pen, which definitely can’t mean it’s something good, and Simon only grunts.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Uhm, I just – received an email from your lawyer—”

Raphael’s head snaps up, but he says nothing. His expression is dangerous, though, and Simon would be scared if he didn’t know that the expression’s directed towards his lawyer and not him.

“He says you need to stop ignoring his calls,” he continues honestly. “Because you can’t keep ignoring this case.”

Raphael’s lip curls. “I will get back to him when I see fit.” He looks back down. “You may leave.”

And, really, Simon can say that he really _did_ try here, so Luke can’t fault him for lack of it, but—

“Is it the case about control of the company?” he asks tentatively, and Raphael’s head snaps back up. This time, his dangerous expression is definitely directed towards Simon.

“Tread carefully, Mr. Lewis,” he warns quietly, and Simon decides that he’s already past treading _anywhere_ carefully and he’s kind of just – speeding it from here, honestly.

“I know Ms. Belcourt is trying to take it away from you, ever since—” he gestures towards the bathroom, and Raphael’s expression darkens. Simon continues, regardless. “Is that the one?”

“That is none of your business,” Raphael’s voice is low and dangerous. Simon should be running out of this office with his tail between his legs by now, really. But it seems that your Friendly Neighborhood Assistant Drone has decided that he, too, is suicidal, and he stands his ground.

“They won’t take it from you,” he tells him. “If you stopped – listen, if you actually _actively_ took a part in this case, Raphael—”

“ _Mr. Santiago_.”

“—then the board would see that you’re still fit to run this company,” he urges. “Because _you are_. You’ve kept it afloat even after what you went through, right? Look at this place! It’s running as smooth as a – baby’s bottom,” Simon settles on, for lack of a better simile.

Raphael stares at him.

“Look,” Simon sighs, rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m no one important,” he relents. “And that really, my opinion about any of this won’t count for much. But I know how much your employees love you, Raphael,” he says, then pauses to wait for the correction.

It doesn’t come.

Something in Simon feels a little lighter. “They would fight for you and this company tooth and nail,” he promises. “If you just stopped hiding behind this stupid pride of yours – or is it embarrassment? I can never tell with you – you could have won this case _ages_ ago.”

Raphael still says nothing, just keeps staring at Simon, as if he’s an anomaly. Simon shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

“Also, everyone hates Ms. Belcourt,” he adds as an afterthought. “She’s kind of a bitch.”

This makes Raphael’s lips twitch upward into what could maybe be the beginning of a smile.

Simon grins widely.

“Go back to your desk,” Raphael finally replies, and Simon only deflates a little. He knows, that if not today, at least he’ll have planted the seed for tomorrow.

He walks back to his desk and takes a seat, and replies to the email Luke Garroway told him not to bother replying to anyway.

> _Luke,_
> 
> _Did my best. Hopefully it’ll show. Let’s have lunch some time! :-)_
> 
> _Simon_

A couple of minutes after he sends it, he hears Raphael’s office door closing. He looks up from the email he’s replying to now, and sees Raphael at the other side of it. He turns to look at Simon, and Simon notices his laptop bag casually swung over one shoulder and his blazer swung over the other.

He kind of looks like a model right now, Simon won’t lie.

Anyway—

Raphael nods at him. “Redirect any important calls to my cell phone,” he says as he walks past Simon’s desk. “But only if they’re urgent. Otherwise, take a message. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

Simon agrees quickly. “Good luck!” he calls out excitedly as Raphael makes his way into the elevator.

And, don’t take his word for it, but Simon swears Raphael rolls his eyes.

That’s the most human thing he’s done in front of Simon since The Incident a year ago.

He feels stupidly happy.

_Da-dun._

Simon looks back at his computer screen to find a new email from Luke Garroway. With a smile this time, he opens it.

> _Simon,_
> 
> _Kid, lunch is on me._
> 
> **_Luke Garroway  
>  (212) 555 – 0129_ **

**

Simon has been working for Raphael Santiago for two years.

Things have changed drastically.

For one, Raphael no longer scolds him for being so personal re: his name. Which is great, because ‘Mr. Santiago’ is kind of a mouthful and he doesn’t exactly like it. It just feels a little kinky to Simon.

Not that – there’s anything _sexual_ about Raphael, because, there’s not, he’s short and he’s poised and he’s, sure, okay, _objectively_ , he’s attractive, sure, and sometimes he doesn’t gel his hair and Simon gets this random urge to run his hands through it, but that is completely normal behavior for Simon, in case you didn’t know, so none of this is _wrong_ , or _weird_ , or—

And then there’s Clary, of course, whom he’s totally still in love with. Kind of. To be honest, it’s gotten a little easier since he’s started working for Raphael. Maybe it’s because he hardly has any days off, which gives them less and less time to hang out with each other, but he’s not complaining. It makes her blind dates easier to bear, plus the short relationships she sometimes jumps into.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, is what he’s saying.

And maybe starting to thank work for everything positive in his life is a sign he’s becoming a workaholic, but he doesn’t mind. He likes his job. He interacts with a lot of people, because said people have to go through him to get to Raphael, and the offices below them even add him to their group chats on Skype sometimes because they like him so much.

It’s as if he’s starting to become a part of the family Raphael’s worked so hard to build here, and it’s…well, it’s _nice_.

His fleeting thoughts are interrupted by the elevator ding, and he looks over to find—

“Lydia,” he grins widely. “Hi!” He jumps up and greets her with a hug, one Lydia awkwardly returns, as per usual.

“Hey, Simon,” she greets. “I’m here to see your boss.”

Simon looks through the glass window into Raphael’s office. Raphael is looking down at some papers, pretending to be busy, pretending he doesn’t see who’s waiting for him right outside the office. To Lydia, it probably seems legit. To Simon, though, it looks like Raphael is reading the _Forbes_ magazine that’s been on his desk for a week and nothing else.

He grabs his phone and dials Raphael’s extension.

“Simon,” Raphael picks up almost immediately. “What.”

“Lydia Branwell here to see you,” he chirps, and watches Raphael look up from his fake-paperwork-really-a-magazine to look at him. Simon winks exaggeratedly at him, then points at Lydia. Raphael’s gaze turns to Lydia, who waves in amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Raphael deadpans. “Let her in.” And he hangs up.

Simon grins at Lydia. “You can head inside,” he tells her, and Lydia manages to huff a laugh and shake her head.

“Thanks, Simon,” she says, and walks past him and into Raphael’s office.

Simon’s nosy, he knows this, but he feels as if this is something he shouldn’t be looking in on at all. Lydia showed back up into Raphael’s life a couple of months ago, and Simon hasn’t bothered asking Raphael how or why. In fact, all the paramedics who saved him on the way to the hospital that night are now a part of Raphael’s life, and Simon figures it’s some sort of therapy-mandated thing. Reach out to those who saved your life, or something, he doesn’t know.

Either way, Lydia’s the best of the bunch, ‘cause even though she’s a stickler for the rules and sometimes snaps at you for using double negatives in a sentence, she’s sweet and she’s kind and she keeps Raphael on his toes. Simon thinks what they have is something akin to friendship, almost. But he can’t be sure, because he’s never seen Raphael with a _friend_ before, so he’s just guessing here.

On the Floor Five Skype chat, someone chirps.

Simon clicks on the group, and raises an eyebrow.

> **_Cora Delgado:_** omg heard the pretty blonde lady’s here again  
>  **_Cora Delgado:_** do we think they’re together or nah?

Simon blinks at the chat box. No, no. Lydia and Raphael aren’t together. That’s – it hadn’t even occurred to him, frankly, and as far as he knows, Raphael is _gay_ , so why are they suddenly interested in making him heterosexual?

> **_Gus Jones:_** He’s gay.

Yes, _thank you_ , Gus, exactly.

> **_Cora Delgado:_** sexuality is as fluid as the ocean  
>  **_Cora Delgado:_** c’mon. I can’t be the only one who thinks there’s something going on??

Simon’s about to reply that yes, yes she is, because it’s a little annoying, how he’s completely ignoring the sexuality Raphael has openly proclaimed himself as – there was an entire article on Forbes about it, for goodness’s sake! – when suddenly:

> **_Kayla Reese:_** i’ll jump on cora’s bandwagon. Totally see them hooking up at least once

Simon feels as if his headache suddenly has a headache.

> **_Simon Lewis:_** Not to rain on anybody’s parade but!! Mr. Santiago is still very gay and, as someone who knows both him and Lydia, they are not hooking up whatsoever, at all, nada, zilp, zilch. Also let’s remember these conversations are being monitored, like, always.

He gets no reply, and Simon feels accomplished.

He closes out of Skype, suddenly feeling solemn, and chances a glance at Raphael’s office. Currently, Lydia is sitting across from him, smiling, from what Simon can tell, and the corners of Raphael’s lips are turned upward slightly, which counts as a full-fledged smile, too. If he were anyone else, he’d probably think they were a thing, too.

But he knows the relationship between them. He respects it, even. Raphael’s been making steady progress for the past two years, battling his depression, changing his medicine dosage at least every other month, trying to find what’s right for him. He has his bad days, sure, but he’s been doing much better than when Simon first met him. Than that first year here, at least.

Lydia’s always been so understanding and sympathetic and, according to her, she’s been through what Raphael’s going through. She lost her fiancé years ago, someone she loved wholly and truly, and she told Simon that that was the trigger. That maybe she’d been battling depression all her life, but it took losing her lover to lose her motivation, and she tried to take her own life, as well.

She’s been doing so much better now, though. Simon keeps track of her progress, too. She’s happier, goes out a lot more, and she’s a good rock for Raphael. Though Simon’s acutely aware that Lydia talks more than Raphael does whenever they do meet up; still. It’s good for him. And anything that’s good for Raphael is good in Simon’s book.

The phone rings.

“Raphael Santiago’s office,” he greets happily. “This is Simon.”

“Simon, hey,” Clary’s voice at the end of the phone is relieved, but Simon panics.

“Clary,” he hisses. “You know you can’t call me at my work phone.”

“Well,” Clary says. “If only you’d charge your cell phone, I wouldn’t _have_ to,” she sounds like she’s scolding Simon, which, she probably is, and Simon begrudgingly accepts this. He opens his desk drawer to pull out his phone charger.

“And this couldn’t wait a little while longer…?” he asks, though he knows the answer will be a no.

“No,” Clary replies, and Simon knew it, it’s on record.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come out to lunch with me,” she says, and Simon is baffled. _This_ is what couldn’t wait a little longer? “I have something important to tell you.”

Simon grunts. “Is it about another boyfriend?” he asks, and hates how bitter he sounds.

But, as per usual, the tone flies over Clary’s head. “Maybe,” she sings. “Can you do lunch or not?”

Simon looks at the clock. His lunch hour is in half an hour. “Uh,” he shrugs, even though Clary can’t see him. “Yeah, sure. I can do lunch in half an hour?”

“Perfect!” Clary celebrates. “Somewhere fast?”

“You know it,” Simon replies, and Clary says her goodbyes and hangs up.

Sighing, Simon starts charging his dead phone. He glares at it accusingly – as if the fact that he’s going to have to spend his whole lunch hour listening to Clary tell him why this new boyfriend is different from the others is its fault – and watches it for a few more minutes before it comes back to life.

 _It lives_ , he thinks morosely.

“See ya, Simon,” Lydia’s voice snaps him from his bitter-induced reverie, and he looks up at her smiling face. Simon smiles right back.

“Bye, Lyds,” he waves lamely. “Hope your talk was good.”

Lydia glances towards Raphael, then back at Simon. Something in her expression turns soft. “He’s a good man, you know,” she tells him, and Simon’s a little offended – of course he knows. He’s worked for the man for two years. “He doesn’t say much, but, when he does – take care of him, okay?”

Simon’s a little confused, but agrees nevertheless, because that’s the only reason he fought so hard to keep this job. To take care of Raphael.

“Always,” he promises, and Lydia seems satisfied. She turns around, and she leaves.

Weird.

Fifteen more minutes and his phone is at thirty-three percent, which he supposes is what he deserves.

Raphael comes out of his office and clears his throat, causing Simon to look up at him. He blinks.

Raphael says nothing.

“…yes?” Simon prompts, because he’s kind of just standing there staring at Simon and it’s a little creepy.

Raphael swallows visibly, and Simon’s eyes do not follow the movement, at all. “Simon,” he says. “Would you like to join me for lunch today?”

Simon gapes. “Me?” he asks, pointing at himself.

Raphael’s expression turns annoyed. “Do you see any other Simons hanging around here, perchance?”

Simon looks around him, for good measure. “No?”

“No to lunch, or no to other Simons?” Raphael’s eyebrow is raised. Simon seriously doesn’t even know what’s happening right now.

“The latter,” he replies quickly. “Definitely the latter. Just a-one Simon, hah,” he jokes weakly. Raphael looks pained.

“ _Dios mio_ ,” he breathes, and it’s Simon’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Spanish out of Raphael’s mouth always sounds like a jumbles mess to Simon’s ears. “Would you like to accompany me to lunch, or not?” he points towards the clock. “We don’t have all day.”

Simon scurries to stand. “No, yeah, yeah, sure,” he says, unplugging his poorly-charged phone. “Let me just – I’m gonna send a real quick text to a friend and then we can go?”

Raphael looks at Simon, before gesturing neatly towards Simon’s phone, as if giving him permission.

Simon grins. “Cool, thanks,” he says, pulling up Clary’s text chat.

> **_Simon:_ ** _can’t make it to lunch :( raphael’s keeping me here to work through it_

It’s a lie. It’s a dirty, filthy lie and he can’t understand why he’s telling it, but it’s most likely because he feels a little guilty for cancelling on Clary to instead go to lunch with his boss. Because that’s gotta be against the best friend code, right? There are loopholes to it, sure, but this is – Raphael isn’t _ordering_ him to go to lunch, for one, it’s completely his choice, but – but Simon wants to have lunch with Raphael. It doesn’t feel like a chore, to talk to him anymore, and he hardly ever sees him outside of work so—

Yeah. This is definitely him bailing on Clary to hang out with his boss.

See how bad that sounds?

Simon sends the message anyway, because he’s that kind of person, he supposes, and grabs his jacket. “Okay,” he says, shrugging it on. “I’m good to go.”

Raphael grunts assent, and walks towards the elevator. Simon skips excitedly behind him.

“Where’re we going?” he asks.

Raphael offers him a long-suffering sigh, before slowly saying, “Why don’t you choose?”

Simon grins.

**

“This isn’t even real Italian,” Raphael furrows his brows at the menu. “How can this be your favorite place to eat?”

Seeing Raphael, poised and suited up and ridiculously out of place, sitting across from him in his usual booth at his usual place does not feel as strange as it should, Simon thinks. Still, he’s definitely amused, and he shrugs at Raphael’s question. “The service is quick and the people are nice,” he tells him.

Raphael’s face looks scandalized at something in the menu. “They sell _steak_ ,” he sounds offended, and Simon can’t help it: he laughs.

“Dude, chill,” he coughs, and Raphael looks up at him. “I’ve seen you eat some questionable things before in your office, but you can’t give this tiny little harmless restaurant a chance?”

Raphael looks around. “I’m not – favorable to trying new things,” he explains slowly. Simon snorts.

“I’ve noticed,” he says. “Is it a Catholic thing?”

Oh, shit. He was just offensive, wasn’t he?

Raphael stares at him blankly. “That makes no sense,” Raphael tells him, and Simon can see where he’s coming from. “And let’s try to keep religion out of the conversation, shall we?”

Simon nods. “Yes, wow, sorry, definitely, but, like – if you feel like you have to, you can totally ask ‘is it a Jewish thing’ after I say some random thing with no correlation to my religion to get even,” he tells Raphael. Raphael blinks.

“I will do no such thing.”

“’Kay,” Simon shrugs. “Just an offer.”

“Oh, was it?” Raphael hums. “I was led to believe Jewish people weren’t much for offers,” his lips curl into a tiny smirk. “Very frugal, as I understand.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Simon drawls, but he’s grinning. “Okay, fair’s fair, that is enough, sir,” he flicks part of his straw wrapper to Raphael, and it lands on his hair. “Now you’re just getting savage.”

Raphael picks the wrapper out of his hair and drops it gently on the table. “You order for me,” he says suddenly, and Simon’s heart does not flip, thank you very much.

“You want me to order for you? Why?” Simon blinks. Raphael looks at him evenly.

“You’re the one who comes here often,” he says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. “And you’re the one who knows what won’t give me food poisoning,” he adds.

Simon’ll give him that one.

“You know your lawyer brought me here,” he tells Raphael. “He loves it just as much as I do.”

Raphael furrows his brows. “Luke?”

Simon nods.

“Hmm,” Raphael muses, but says nothing more. He seems to be veering off into his own head once again, and in his own head, Simon is almost sure there is nothing but work, work, work.

So Simon pulls him back. “Did you know I’ve only ever thrown one tantrum in my entire life?”

It works. Raphael is successfully pulled back into the present, but he’s staring at Simon is what Simon can only deem “exasperation”.

“What.” Raphael says.

Simon nods. “It’s true. Just once in my entire life. Never again, because it didn’t fare well for me,” he says. “It was over a G.I. Joe DVD box set,” he explains. “It was the collector’s box. Came with some really cool shit, and I wanted it so badly I threw myself on the ground and cried and cried,” he rolls his eyes. “No surprise I didn’t get it and my mother grounded me for months. Said she didn’t raise me to be such a brat,” he shrugs. “Wasn’t wrong.”

Raphael looks confused. “Over a DVD set?” he sounds disbelieving. “How…interesting.”

“Hey,” Simon feigns offense. “It was the _collector’s_ set, Raphael,” he sniffs. “Tried to get it in my teens once I got my first job, but it was discontinued. It’s almost impossible to find nowadays,” Simon sighs. “A broken dream.”

Raphael shakes his head. “I would like to change the subject.”

Simon grins. “Be my guest, connoisseur of conversation, you.”

Raphael looks like he’s about to voice his offence, but their waiter interrupts them before he gets to them.

“Hey, Simon! And hello, Simon’s friend!” It’s Joe, and he looks happy, as per usual. “You two look important today.”

Simon laughs. “No, not me, I’m no one important,” he promises. “This guy, though,” he waves a hand at Raphael. “He owns—”

“A suit like this because he’s a boring accountant,” Raphael finishes for Simon. Simon blinks at him, confused. “Raphael.” And he _smiles_ , the charming bastard, like he isn’t as repressed as he truly is.

Simon’s mind is just about blown when he manages to keep up a casual conversation with Joe before he turns to Simon and asks what they’re ordering. And Simon, confused and completely lost at this point, orders his favorite plate for the both of them, and Joe is gone.

Simon stares at Raphael in disbelief.

Raphael sips at his water through the straw. “Yes?”

Simon shakes his head and smiles. “Have you learned something new today, Raphael?”

Raphael rolls his eyes, and the small cheerleading team that lives inside Simon’s head cheers in triumph. “I’ve learned you’re insufferable,” he tells Simon, and Simon laughs, because, for once, he doesn’t believe Raphael.

“I’ve learned so much,” Simon sighs contently. “So much.”

Raphael flicks straw wrapper at Simon’s hair.

**

Simon has been working for Raphael Santiago for three years.

And he hasn’t shown up to work for a week.

“This is the _tenth time_ this week I have called—”

“I _know_ , Mr. Hamasaki,” Simon is just as frustrated as him, and as all these angry businessmen who keep calling, is what none of them understand. “But Mr. Santiago is currently unavailable to take any calls. All I can do for you is—”

“If you say _take a message_ **one** more time, boy—”

“—take a message—”

The line goes dead.

Simon sighs and hangs up the phone, rubs at his temple.

More than frustrated, Simon’s worried. Raphael doesn’t _take_ sick days. Ever. Not since he started working for him, except for those three months after The Incident, and then it was back to work every day as per usual. And, Simon likes to think that if he _were_ to take a sick day (or _seven_ ), he’d have the courtesy to call and let his _own company_ know.

All of the group chats on Skype have worried messages, some theorizing his premature death/murder, and Simon had to leave all of them because they only amplified his stress levels. He’s texted Lydia, asked if she’s heard anything, but she’s been swamped at the hospital and hasn’t had time to look into it.

Raphael’s mom has called Simon’s cell phone multiple times asking after him, sounding so worried, it breaks Simon’s heart every time he remembers. All he can do is promise to contact her the minute he hears from Raphael.

Part of him wants to go look for him, but he thinks that might be a little exaggerated.

But it’s been _seven days_ , and if this isn’t an excuse to go looking for that son of a bitch, then he doesn’t know what is, really—

His cell phone rings. Simon blinks at Clary’s picture for a moment, before picking it up. “Hello?” he does his best to not sound stressed.

It works. “Birthday boy!” she exclaims, and Simon sighs fondly. “So? Did you manage to play hooky today?” she asks. “My Epic Birthday Surprise will not work as well with only half a day to execute.”

Simon grimaces. “Sorry, Clary,” he apologizes profusely. “But Raphael still isn’t here.”

Clary scoffs. “Then leave!” Simon can almost see her shake her head in disbelief. “Simon, if the guy doesn’t care about his company, why in the world should you?”

But it’s not that, Simon wants to say. Simon knows Raphael. He cares about his company and his employees more than he cares about _himself_ , and he wouldn’t do this on purpose, he just _wouldn’t_. “Someone’s gotta hold down the fort,” he tells her. “Besides, this isn’t like him, he hasn’t called _at all_ , and that’s—”

Clary sighs. “Simon,” she says. “You do too much for this guy. I hardly ever see you anymore.”

Simon grimaces. He doesn’t know how to explain himself to Clary, mostly because he doesn’t exactly know how to explain anything to himself. She’s only half-right – it’s not Raphael who keeps Simon from seeing Clary so much. It’s Simon’s personal choice. He doesn’t take any sick days, he comes in on Saturdays and holidays Raphael has explicitly stated he can have off, and it’s all because he enjoys working, and he looks forward to his job, and he wants to see Raphael every day, and he likes taking his lunch inside Raphael’s office and talking to him about mundane things, things that keep his mind off work, and he likes—

Simon swallows. “I have to make sure he’s okay, Clary,” he tells her.

Clary is silent for a moment. “Oh, Simon,” she sighs, and she sounds like she knows something Simon doesn’t want to know.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Seven or eight, at the latest,” he says, looking at the clock.

Clary sighs again. “Okay,” she says. “It’s _your_ birthday, after all.” She pauses. “I love you.” She tells him, and Simon smiles softly.

“Love you, too,” he says, and hangs up.

He grabs his jacket and hurriedly sets up a voicemail that says he’s stepped out of the office for the rest of the day, and to only leave a message if it’s truly important, and then he runs towards the elevator. Trips on the way there, but he makes it eventually, which is the important part.

The upside of Raphael being gone is that his driver is at Simon’s disposal, so when he finally reaches the lobby, he runs out the door to find George ready to open the car door for Simon. He spots him and smiles.

“Mr. Lewis!” he greets, and Simon doesn’t bother to correct him for the hundredth time. “Where are we off to today?”

Simon has no idea. “Mr. Santiago’s house, George,” he says urgently. “You know where it is?”

George nods. “Of course,” he tells Simon. “I was wondering when we would go.”

Simon blinks at him, puzzled. “What?”

George smiles at him. “I know ya, kid,” he says. “You weren’t gonna stay put any longer than you needed to.”

Simon laughs slightly. “How fast can you get there?”

George grins.

**

Pretty fucking fast, is the answer.

Simon’s also sure he’s about to throw up yesterday’s lunch with the speed they were going at, but it’s not like he didn’t ask for this, so he just exists the car and tries to keep everything in.

Raphael’s house is – surprisingly quaint. For all the money that he has, it’s not as enormous and veracious as Simon thought it’d be, and though it’s in a private neighborhood, all of the houses around him look quiet and surprisingly lack any sort of extravagance. With a deep breath, he walks up the steps to the front door and knocks.

And there’s no answer.

He shouldn’t have expected differently, honestly. He knocks again, this time louder, and adds a “Raphael!” for better coverage.

And still, nothing.

Simon’s heart begins to race. No, no. This is far too familiar a scenario – something he doesn’t want to relive. He starts frantically searching for a spare key – there has to be one, there has to be – and he finds it, finally, in one of the potted plants.

He’s going to have to have a talk with Raphael about hiding his spare key somewhere less _expected_.

Still, Simon unlocks the front door and walks inside, expecting the worst.

Though this…isn’t it, he doesn’t think.

It’s a mess, for one. Simon knows that Raphael is sort of a neat freak – one spill on his jacket and he’s in a bad mood for the rest of his day – so this is definitely out of the ordinary. It’s almost like he hasn’t been here for days. In fact, Simon’s a little worried he _hasn’t_ been here for days, and this was all a moot effort.

Biting his lip, Simon tip-toes around some wine bottles on the floor, and also tries to avoid some dirty laundry, before he reaches the stairs. He walks up, up and up, and now he’s looking for Raphael’s room, hoping to find him there.

“Raphael?” he calls out again, to no avail. Simon tries to tell himself not to worry, that he’s going to be okay, it’s probably going to be a fluke, maybe he just had an emergency family situation to deal with—

And when he opens the final door he investigates, he sees a lump underneath the covers on the bed, and his heart stops for an entire minute.

“Please,” he whispers, turning on the light to illuminate the dark of the room. “Raphael?” he asks, scampering to his side quickly. He shakes him. “Raphael!”

Raphael stirs. Simon’s breath comes rushing back to him in one swift movement.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “Jesus Christ.” Raphael opens his eyes, then, and instead of looking surprised or angry at Simon’s presence, he looks – nothing. Like he’s looking straight through Simon, like he’s not really here. His eyes are red and his hair is a mess and he says nothing, absolutely nothing, to Simon.

Simon whimpers slightly. “Raph, c’mon,” he mutters, shaking him again. “What’s wrong?” Simon looks around, perusing for anything that might indicate he _tried_ again, but he comes up empty. No, it just seems like Raphael is – alone, simply inactive, like he’s been put on pause. Something lodges in Simon’s throat. He thought he’d been doing _so well_.

He makes a mental note to check on Raphael’s meds dosage. Something must have changed, evidently. He’ll call the psychiatrist tomorrow to report this incident. And he’ll be asking a lot of questions no one will answer, probably, since he’s no one important.

Tentatively, Simon runs a hand through Raphael’s hair. It’s sweaty and dirty – obvious lack of washing for days. Simon swallows. “I’m here,” he tells Raphael softly. Raphael’s expression doesn’t even flicker. “I’m gonna be here.”

He takes his hand back and sighs, looking at the mess in Raphael’s room. And so, to pass the time – he cleans.

He cleans the room then he cleans the kitchen then he cleans the living room. Makes sure it’s spotless, the way Raphael wants everything at the office, makes sure no stone remains unturned. Washes and dries every last dish. Figures out where Raphael stores everything and what kind of strange order he keeps it in and he makes sure that whenever Raphael is ready to come back, he’ll come back to this. To his house the way he likes it. To a world where everything is normal and there are people eagerly waiting for him.

Once he’s finished cleaning, he allows himself to do the laundry as long as he doesn’t dwell on the intimates, and once he’s done with that, he makes his way back upstairs and into Raphael’s room.

He hasn’t moved. Simon’s heart lodges in his throat – he seriously wishes he had some superpowers right now to make this better. As it were, Simon knows Raphael cares very little about anything right now. Even Simon’s stupid anecdotes that usually earn him an eye roll or, if lucky, an amused smile.

Simon settles himself on the bed next to Raphael, back resting against the headboard.

And he talks.

And he talks, and he talks, and he talks, mentions Clary once, maybe, talks about Lydia, talks about the employees who are worried out of their minds for him, talks about Raphael’s mom, compares her to his mom, talks about stories from his childhood and funny work stories and he talks until his throat is sore and the sun has set and the clock reads 11:36 PM.

Raphael hasn’t moved, not once. Simon’s not even sure he’s been listening, but he’s staying here until he gives Simon a sign – any sign – that he’ll be okay.

And suddenly—

“It’s your birthday,” Raphael’s voice is throaty, probably from lack of usage, and Simon almost jumps out of his skin in surprise. He hadn’t mentioned it was his birthday – but then again, he’s been working for Raphael for three years. It’s not far-fetched to think he might have remembered when Simon’s birthday is.

Either way, Simon’s just happy he’s speaking. His heart is racing and he makes no sudden movements – afraid he’ll spook Raphael back into whatever state he was in before. “Yep,” he says quietly. “Had cake earlier with the rest of the team.”

Silence. All Simon can hear is the beat of his own heart, loud in his ears, reminding him of all of the things he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t even want to touch.

“I got you something,” Raphael says, and he turns over in the covers to look straight at Simon. His expression is no longer near-dead – he still looks colorless, but Simon’s already thinking of what he can bring him to eat to fix that.

“Oh yeah?” Simon smiles slightly. “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re certainly right about that,” And it’s such a _Raphael_ thing to say that Simon almost sobs in relief. “Regardless. It’s wrapped. It’s in the bottom drawer.”

Simon doesn’t ask what drawer it is – Raphael’s looking at the end table beside Simon, so Simon simply reaches over and pulls it open. It looks like a big block, wrapped in dull gold wrapping paper, one of those festive white bows sitting in the middle of it.

Simon’s heart squeezes, and he swallows through the lump in his throat.

Shakily, he starts to unwrap the present, and when he finishes, he sets the paper aside and stares at what is now in his lap.

A G.I. Joe DVD box set. Collector’s edition.

And maybe this is where he lets himself know all the things he doesn’t want to know. And maybe this is where he looks at Raphael and for the first time sees all the things he doesn’t want to see.

And maybe this is where he drowns in Raphael’s eyes and thinks, _it’s him_.

_It’s been him all along._

And Simon has no clue what to do with that.

He’s pretty sure there are tears in his eyes, so he clears his throat. “This is—” he looks back at Raphael, who is looking at him studiously. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Raphael stares at him some more.

They’re looking at each other for far too long, Simon thinks, but he can’t look away, and he doesn’t know what to do with this feeling that’s found shelter in his heart and doesn’t want to leave him be.

“How,” Raphael finally starts again, eyes narrowing slightly. “did you get in here?”

Simon laughs brokenly.

**

It takes a couple of days, but Raphael comes back to work.

Simon shuts down any rumors that might want to start circulating, says it was a family emergency and that he’d been sworn to secrecy but he’d known all along.

No one is allowed to mention Raphael’s name on Skype, or ask him any more questions about him to Simon.

Basically, if anyone even wants to _look_ at Raphael, they’re gonna have to go through Simon. He’s being totally serious when he says that. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with his boss, who may or may not also be the love of his life at this point, who knows, Simon hasn’t had the time to dwell on it.

Raphael calls him into his office on the first day back.

Simon hurries inside. “Yes?” he asks.

Raphael looks at him. “Camille has taken notice of my absence,” he says, clearing his throat. “I don’t doubt she’ll be looking into it and try to challenge my ability to run this company.”

Camille’s a bitch, Simon thinks.

“I’ll stick to the story,” Simon promises. “Should I call your mom, get her in on it, too?”

Raphael stares at him. “Yes,” he says. “If you’d like.”

Simon nods. “I’m calling your psychiatrist, too,” he warns him. Raphael looks down at his paperwork. “Telling him what happened and questioning your dosage.”

“That is none of your concern,” Raphael snaps, but Simon is immune to it now. He’s already in love with the man, there’s little more Raphael can do to ruin Simon’s life, to be honest.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m doing it anyway.”

Raphael looks like he’s trying not to fume.

“Do it for your company, okay?” Simon adds gently.

Raphael stares at Simon for a solid minute, and Simon is surprised he’s not a melted puddle on the ground yet.

“A merger,” Raphael mutters, and Simon’s brows furrow at the abrupt change of subject.

“A what now?” he asks.

“A merger, for the company,” Raphael nods. “It’s in its best interest. If I am to remain in control, then – a merger might make it easier to cope, if ever I—” he clears his throat. “I am absent to work for so long again.”

Simon can’t believe his ears. Raphael is willing to lose control of his baby, essentially, part of it, anyway, is willing to share responsibilities with another company, not have complete and total say on what happens here, all because he cares about what his depression might cost the company one day. All because he wants to protect it from Camille Belcourt, who would take this company and run it to the ground, out of nothing but pure spite. And with it, she’d take all of its employees, some in dire need of whatever lowly position they’ve been hired for.

Raphael Santiago is willing to give up control of something he loves so dearly in order to save it and to save the people who help it stand.

Simon wants to cry because he’s so in love with this man it’s pathetic.

“Cool,” he says instead, very eloquently.

“You agree?” Raphael asks, and Simon laughs nervously.

“I’m no one important, Raphael,” Simon reminds him, and Raphael frowns. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want a stamp of approval from me. I’m not too experienced with the business aspect of all of this,” he says, gesturing around him.

“You’re wrong,” Raphael says.

“Okay, so maybe I’ve picked up on a few things,” Simon agrees, and Raphael looks as if he’s pained and wants to say something. “Do it,” he says instead, before Raphael hurts a muscle. “If you think that’s what’s best for the company, then go for it.”

“Yes,” Raphael finally says, sighing loudly. “Yes, I think I will.”

**

Simon has been working for Raphael for four years.

And Simon’s pretty sure he’s about to fire Cora Delgado.

Listen, it’s not as if Cora’s presence would be terribly missed in this place, to be honest, because she loves to gossip more than she loves to do anything else, but she also doesn’t deserve to be fired over a mistake that was probably the copier’s fault. Except Raphael doesn’t seem to remember his company quite literally runs on _machines_ , not only _humans_ , and he’s having a bad day. Also, he hasn’t had his lunch, which Simon’s noticed over the years makes him crankier than usual.

And though Raphael hasn’t fired anyone or a simple mistake, like, ever, Simon wouldn’t put it past him to do it now.

So he calls him, and makes sure to talk him down from any funny ideas.

When they hang up, Raphael barks something at Cora, and she’s scampering out of the office, face completely red.

“You owe me,” Simon tells her cheerfully. Cora blows him a shaky kiss and carries onto the elevator, where she’ll probably let herself cry for a little while. Simon courteously looks away.

Raphael silently hurries Simon up with his lunch, and Simon rolls his eyes. He picks up the phone and dials Pedro, the security on duty.

“Is his lunch here yet?” he asks, without having to explain why he’s calling.

Pedro grunts. “Guy just got into the elevator, should be heading your way in t-minus three,” he says.

Simon sighs. “Thanks, Pedro,” he says, and hangs up, and waits for the delivery boy.

It’s Caleb from _That Sad Little Italian Place You Like So Much, Simon_ , and Simon grins at him in greeting. “Thanks, Caleb,” he says, handing him a cash tip.

Caleb blushes and stumbles over his words. “No problem, it’s like, whatever, ya know, just a job,” he shrugs.

Simon blinks at him, then laughs. “Okay, man, whatever you say,” he slaps him on the shoulder. “You sure you’re okay to drive? Have you been sneaking some of the wine your uncle sells?” he teases.

Caleb’s blush deepens, and he stares a hole into Simon’s hand on his shoulder. “No,” he squeaks, and Simon pulls his hand back, suddenly afraid he’s offended him.

“Okay, pal,” he laughs uncertainly. “See you next time?”

Caleb grunts and turns towards the elevator, pressing the ‘down’ button over and over quickly. Simon almost has the terrible sense to tell him that doesn’t make the elevator come any faster, but he supposes that’s none of his concern.

He turns to walk back into Raphael’s office, not bothering to knock, since he never does when he has lunch. “Delivery,” he sings, dropping the bag of food on Raphael’s desk. Simon grabs one of the chairs across from Raphael’s and pulls it closer to his desk. Raphael sniffs.

“About time,” he closes the notebook he’d been scribbling on as Simon opens the bag to hand him his container. “Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time flirting with the delivery boy, I could have gotten it sooner.”

Simon laughs. “Caleb’s a baby,” he coos. “I’m no cradle-robber.”

Besides, he’s also helplessly in love with Raphael, as has been established, and his interest in anyone else has significantly waned.

Enough so that it’s practically non-existent.

But he can’t really tell _Raphael_ that, can he?

“I’m starting to get tired of this place,” Raphael says. Simon’s surprised, because he’s pretty sure no one can get tired of this place. “Perhaps we’ll look for a different lunch order soon.”

Simon shrugs. “If you want,” he looks at Raphael curiously. “Everything okay?”

Raphael takes a bite out of his pasta. “Delightful.”

**

Raphael has gone through several companies to find the right one for the merger. Simon’s seen him enter a meeting with charm and suave, only to come out of it angry and dejected.

He thinks he can fool Simon by telling him it’s all about the money when reviewing possible candidates, but Simon knows better. Simon knows that Raphael can read these men’s characters like the palm of his hand and he knows when they’re not worthy of Santiago Incorporated. He knows how to pick apart the ones who will fire everyone from Raphael’s end first from the ones who’ll overstaff. He knows how to pick apart the ones willing to relinquish control to an anonymous buyer and the ones who will never let Raphael speak over them, ever.

Simon knows Raphael knows these things. Which is why Simon keeps insisting he’s looking in the wrong places, and when the latest merger goes south, Simon looks at Raphael with a knowing smile.

Raphael rolls his eyes, and ignores Simon.

Which is why he’s so excited when Magnus Bane sets up an appointment with Raphael.

He’s heard such good things about him and his company – he cares about his employees almost as much as Raphael does, his business is clean and it’s environmentally friendly and he’s openly bisexual. He’s awesome, he’s great—

And Simon realizes too late he’s not here to talk _business_.

He realizes this first by the intimacy of their embrace – old friends, he guesses. And then Raphael smiles – truly, _really_ smiles, teeth and all, and it lights up his entire face and he’s never, _ever_ seen Raphael smile at someone like that in his entire life, and Simon is torn between wanting to drown in that smile and wanting to take Magnus Bane and hide him far, far away.

He makes up an excuse to call Raphael during their meeting, and it backfires on him because Raphael can see straight through him at any time.

He rambles on about fonts or something and Raphael asks if he’s fixed the mistake he called to tell him about.

“Already done,” Simon says, proud of an achievement he hadn’t actually gone through with, considering this was all, well, bullshit. “You’re not opposed to Arial, are you?”

Raphael’s voice is low when he asks why he’s calling if the problem is already fixed, and Simon doesn’t know what to say, so he starts playing with some papers on his desk.

When Raphael calls his name again, Simon stumbles through an excuse and hangs up, staring at the papers he’s messed up. He had those alphabetized, Simon realizes, deflating. He looks up at sees Raphael smiling softly at Magnus once again, and something ugly coils in Simon’s stomach.

He hates it. But he lives with it.

**

Fun fact about Simon you may not know: he’s taken up yoga.

With Lydia, because she’s crazy and wanted someone to do this with.

Another fun fact: Simon sucks at it. Lydia is a graceful queen and got the hang of it almost immediately. Simon’s not even sure why they come here anymore – Lydia says it’s to ease Simon’s stress (“It must be draining, having to pine over your boss all day, and all,” she’ll tease, and Simon will whimper), but he’s also pretty sure Lydia has a crush on the instructor.

Isabelle Lightwood is, quite frankly, one of the most gorgeous human beings he’s ever laid eyes on. And, if he weren’t so pathetically taken by Raphael, he’d probably be pining after her, too. Which, come to think of it, is maybe why Lydia asked _him_ to come to the yoga class with her and not anyone else. Because she knows he’s so deep into whatever feelings he has for Raphael, he won’t be competition for her when battling for Isabelle’s heart.

Although, come on. Competition? Simon? Against _Lydia_? Yeah, right.

A gum stuck to a shoe is no match for a three-layered cake.

Anyway, Simon is almost a hundred percent sure Isabelle returns Lydia’s crush. She’s always nice enough to acknowledge Simon after class, even manages to engage in conversation with him, but her gaze and attention always drifts back to Lydia, and they admire each other’s work all the time – they’re always flirting, and honestly, Simon’s only waiting for the day they start making out right in front of him. Not because of anything sexual, no, but because life hates him and would mock him by making everyone around him happy and lucky in love and he’s stuck being in love with a workaholic who’s about to lose all of his hair over a merger.

Today, Lydia looks nervous. Simon raises an eyebrow at her.

“What’s up?” he asks, and Lydia glances at Isabelle.

“I’m going to ask her out,” Lydia says, but she says it in a way that makes Simon thinks she wants him to discourage her.

And so of course he’s not going to do that, that’s terrible. “Good!” he grins at her widely. “It’s about time. You hate on me for pining and then don’t do anything to quit your own,” he teases. “So I’m very proud you’re taking this first step into eradicating your hypocrisy.”

“Har, har,” Lydia rolls her eyes. She looks over at Isabelle, who is bidding goodbye to other students. “Do you think she’ll say yes?” She looks ridiculously insecure, and it’s not a look Simon’s accustomed to seeing on Lydia.

“Hey,” Simon says, squeezing her arm. “Of course she’ll say yes. She’d be crazy not to,” his phone chirps. Frowning, he pulls it out of his pocket and realizes it’s a lot of reminders about tomorrow’s meetings. It’s going to be a day spent completely out of the office, he realizes. Pressed to Raphael’s side in that dark car. Damn. How inconvenient.

Lydia elbows his chest, and Simon only has a second to regain his composure before Isabelle steps gracefully towards them. She’s grinning.

“Guys!” she exclaims in greeting. “That was so good, what you all gave me today,” she looks at Simon. “You’re improving!”

“And you’re lying,” Simon jokes, prompting a laugh from Isabelle.

“We all learn at our own pace,” she promises, and Simon shrugs. His pace is a never-ending one, he supposes. Doesn’t think his flexibility will improve much.

Isabelle turns over to Lydia, and her expression lights up tenfold, and Simon suddenly wonders how Lydia can miss this, something so obvious as this – someone who looks at her as if she’s the best thing that has ever happened in this world and would love nothing more than to share night after night of romance.

Or something, Simon doesn’t know, whatever.

“Well,” Simon coughs and looks at his phone. “Would you look at the time, I’ve got a thing with a person,” he announces loudly. Lydia looks murderous; Isabelle looks amused. “I’ll leave you two to it, yeah? ‘Till next time, teach,” he high-fives Isabelle. “Namaste!” he calls out as he walks away, and he hears Isabelle’s soft laugh echo in the distance.

His phone chirps once more. He fishes it from out of his yoga bag, and smiles as he sees Raphael’s name pop up.

> **_Raphael:_ ** _What does the schedule look like tomorrow?_

Simon snorts.

> **_Simon:_ ** _booked solid, boss.  
>  **Raphael:** Can you manage to squeeze in a lunch with Magnus Bane?_

Simon stops in his tracks. _No_ , no he can’t, why would he want to, why would Raphael want to, and sure, alright, Magnus Bane is an attractive man and his business is wonderful and whatever, but why does _Raphael_ – Simon’s seen what his fleeting relationships with other businessmen end up like, alright, and they’re not pretty, so why would he put himself through that again?

Simon throws a silent tantrum in the middle of the street, uncaring over who’s watching.

He replies:

> **_Simon:_ ** _You’re killing me, smalls.  
>  **Simon:** I’ll do my best._

And he gets:

> **_Raphael:_ ** _Yes, do._

And Simon once again curses life for making him fall in love with Raphael Santiago.

**

Magnus Bane, as it turns out, is in a happy year-long relationship with Alec Lightwood (who! Lightwood! Relation to Isabelle? Probably. Detective Simon, at your service) and he brings him along to lunch.

Simon suddenly doesn’t think he’s so bad.

“Raphael is certainly a handsome one, isn’t he?”

Magnus is obviously a rat.

Simon chokes on his drink, and eyes Raphael, who is currently deep in conversation with Alec about something he can’t make out. “He’s – my boss,” he finishes lamely.

Magnus smiles. “That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate the way he looks, does it?” he asks, blinking far too innocently at Simon.

Simon makes a strangled sound, to which Magnus responds by holding up a placating hand.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “We’ll leave it be.”

The _for now_ is implied, Simon supposes.

“Have you seen _The Force Awakens_ yet?” he blurts out nervously and in a desperate attempt to change the subject, and this seems to snap Alec and Raphael back into the present.

Magnus laughs delightedly. “I haven’t had the time,” he admits. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

And, well, Magnus asked for it, really.

**

It’s Clary’s birthday tomorrow and Raphael is going to attempt a merger with Magnus’s company.

It’s looking to be a good day, in all honestly.

“ _This_ is the kind of business you want to partner, with,” Simon is jumping for joy, and Raphael looks on, something strange on his expression. Simon doesn’t let it faze him. “This is _so_ great, Raphael. Shit,” Simon grins widely. “It’s so awesome.”

Simon makes sure he’s handing Raphael the right amount of pills and water, and watches as Raphael takes them. He makes sure the water is empty before handing it back to Simon, who just kind of – puts the glass back down on his desk, because where else would he put it?

“And you will get less hours to work,” Raphael adds after a moment. “Without having to share your position.”

Simon’s face flushes with the memory of him storming into Raphael’s office and demanding answers for a job recruiting advertisement going around the office for Raphael Santiago’s new assistant. _A second assistant_ , Raphael had explained. In order to cut his workload, or something. “Yeah, I guess,” he mumbles, though he can’t understand how Raphael doesn’t understand that he doesn’t mind looking after him, doesn’t mind spending almost every day with him. He spends all of Sunday pining after him, anyway.

“That reminds me!” he exclaims, and he asks to have the day off tomorrow for Clary’s birthday.

Raphael looks a little pained, but he agrees to let him have the day off, anyway.

Simon beams.

**

Clary loves her birthday surprise. She hugs Simon tight and thanks him and tells him he’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Simon hugs her back and tells her the exact same thing.

He doesn’t feel the longing he used to feel before, in moment likes these. Now his longing is for someone else, elsewhere, even now, when his head is supposed to be here – his heart is with a short Latino man with a quiet demeanor and a beautiful face and an even more beautiful heart.

And he feels pretty fucking fucked.

**

Simon has to calm himself before he knocks on Raphael’s door the next week.

“Come in,” he hears Raphael say, and Simon is fidgeting at the door because he’s afraid he’ll explode at start throwing accusations at Raphael immediately.

“I—” he grimaces, and instead of saying anything else, he walks over to Raphael’s desk and leaves the printed email on his desk.

Raphael blinks at it. “What is this?” he asks, and Simon looks at the floor.

“Email from your psychiatrist,” he says quietly, trying to level his voice. He’s angry, he knows he’s angry, but he has no right, he’s no one important, he’s just Raphael’s assistant. Despite how much he wishes otherwise, he doesn’t have a say in what Raphael does or doesn’t do, even though he’s fooled himself into thinking he does.

“And?” Raphael snaps.

Simon finally looks up. “You’ve been skipping out on your sessions,” he blurts, and he knows his anger is starting to seep through his tone. His hands are shaking and he’s doing his best not to feel let down by this, but he does, because this is – well, it’s almost something they worked towards together, and Raphael’s been neglecting it. Worse still, he’s been neglecting his own mental health, and that’s just not something Simon can put up with.

Raphael’s health is more important than anything in this stupid place.

“I have been busy,” Raphael tells him, sounding perfectly calm. It pisses Simon off a little more. “I haven’t had the time.”

Simon huffs, annoyed. “Doesn’t matter,” he quips. “You need to make time for yourself.”

Raphael is finally starting to look affected by this conversation – annoyed, mostly, but it’s a reaction. “Contrary to what you may believe, you don’t actually dictate what I should and shouldn’t do.”

And that is just priceless. “I’m worried about you.” He tells Raphael, sounding more angry than worried.

“You shouldn’t be,” Raphael dismisses him. “Bring me some Tylenol and then do what you need to do. And you are no longer allowed to access my personal email from now on, do you understand?”

Simon gapes at him for a moment before gritting his teeth. “Raphael—” he starts.

“ _Do you understand_?”

Simons turns around, ready to stomp out of that office Kardashian-style. But he thinks – _this is it. If I don’t tell him now, if he doesn’t realize how important all of this is, he never will_.

Simon has got to get full-fledged angry with Raphael, and it’s probably not going to be pretty.

So he turns back. “Why don’t you care about yourself?” he accuses. “Why don’t you care that this is killing you?” His voice is loud and it’s shaking and he’s mad, he’s so mad, he’s worried, he’s so worried. He’s seen Raphael at rock bottom before. He doesn’t want to see him there again. Doesn’t even want to think about him there again.

“My health is in perfect condition,” Raphael grinds out. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not!” Simon exclaims, tugging at his hair for a moment. “I know this merger is going to be good in the long run, I know, okay, but that doesn’t mean you have to put _yourself_ second,” Raphael is no longer looking at him. Go figure. “ _Nothing_ in this place is more important than your well-being.”

Raphael looks angry now, when he looks back up at Simon. “I don’t have time for your hypocrisy,” he accuses, and Simon blinks at him, perplexed. “You put yourself second to me all the time. And what? What am I supposed to do with that, Simon?” Simon doesn’t understand. Why does Raphael think he needs to do _anything_ with that? “How am I supposed to repay you for everything you have done for me if you won’t ever let me take care of you the way you so desperately think you should take care of me?”

Simon gapes. Again, with this ridiculous notion Raphael needs to look after Simon for whatever reason. He shakes his head furiously. “I don’t—”

“Your pity is unwelcome here,” Raphael snaps. “I don’t want it. I have never wanted it.”

Simon is shocked. “You’ve never _had_ it,” he complains with a disbelieving laugh. Sitting with him for hours and hours while he said nothing. Having lunch with him every day. Cancelling plans to spend even more time with him, whenever he asks Simon to. Wanting to see him happier, healthier, better. _Pity_ is not the emotion driving these actions. It never _has_ been. “This isn’t pity, Jesus Christ, Raphael, you’re so – how are you so _blind_?”

“Don’t,” Raphael’s tone is threatening. Simon ignores him, because he’s lost in his own head.

“How can’t you see that everything I do is because I—” _Love you love you love you_ —

“Leave,” Raphael interrupts furiously, before Simon can even think about getting the words out. “Now.”

There’s a lump in his throat, and he feels his heart break in two. “Raphael—” he pleads, _begs_ , he _needs_ to understand—

“Leave,” Raphael demands. “And don’t come back until you are being reasonable.”

It hurts now. Emotionally, physically. He doesn’t know how he gets out of the office, doesn’t remember driving home. All he remembers is tasting the salt of his own tears on his pillow, and staying in bed until the darkness surrounds him. He remembers his phone ringing, once, twice, three times, but he doesn’t pick up. He hates it.

He hates this.

This pain – hates that someone has such a hold over him they can make him feel this way. This terrible. He hates it.

He hates that even now, cursing his name, he hopes Raphael is okay. Because Simon knows what “being reasonable” means to Raphael.

It means Simon with no feelings. It means Simon never again speaking of the way he loves Raphael.

And Simon can’t do that.

So then, he thinks. That’s that.

**

Two days in, Clary comes over. She cuddles him and talks about bears and they watch all of the Star Wars movies, in order of release.

“Did he fire you?” she asks somewhere in the middle of _The Empire Strikes Back_. Simon shakes his head.

“Told me not to come back until I stopped loving him,” he says to her. Clary looks over at him, and though she seems surprised that he’s admitting to it, she doesn’t particularly seems surprised at the news. Clary has always been one step ahead of Simon, after all.

“And that’s not gonna happen?” Clary asks quietly.

Simon stares at the television. Feels his heart start to hurt. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t love him,” he admits. “Does that make sense?”

Clary nods, cuddles him closer. “Yeah,” she tells him. “That makes sense.”

**

A couple of more days pass, and Lydia and Isabelle come over.

“Have you come to rub your honeymoon phase in my face?” Simon asks dramatically, flopping face-first into the couch.

Isabelle coos and pets Simon’s hair. “No, _querido_ , never,” she says. “We’re here to make sure you’re eating.”

Lydia makes a disgusted sound in the kitchen. “How is this place not _infested_ with rats?” she asks.

Simon moans.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Isabelle starts while still petting Simon’s hair. “I have it on very good authority that Raphael isn’t doing any better than you are.”

Simon glances up. “Your brother?” he guesses, and Isabelle shrugs. Simon doesn’t even have the energy to boast about him being right.

“Had to fight it out of him, but it’s okay,” Isabelle smiles sadly.

The fact of the matter is, it _doesn’t_ make Simon feel better. Because despite whatever the fuck he’s going through, and how much it hurts, he still wants Raphael to be okay. He wants Raphael to realize how important it he is to him, to this world.

Simons buries his face back into the couch.

“Cockroach,” Lydia calls out. “Close enough.”

Simon whines. “Did you kill it?”

“No, I ate it,” Lydia deadpans.

They stay with him the rest of the day. And even though, in theory, seeing them glance at each other so lovingly or sneak a kiss during _27 Dresses_ or hold hands the entire visit should make him bitter and angry and lonely – it doesn’t.

It helps. He’s happy they’re happy.

He’s only sad he’s not happy.

**

Today, he’s thinking that maybe it’s time he start looking for another job.

It’s clear he’s never, ever going to get over Raphael. He’s accepted it. He’s made his peace with it. Sure, he’s not happy about it, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? He’s the one who made the mistake of falling in love with the man, he’s the one who has to live with the consequences. It’s the circle of life, and all of that.

He’s looking through the classifieds in the paper when there’s a knock on the door.

Probably another one of his many female friends, come to make sure he hasn’t starved to death or drowned himself in a river of tears.

But when he opens the door, he’s met with someone else entirely.

Not a female, first and foremost, and the man he’s currently blaming his entire misery for.

Raphael Santiago looks worse for wear, but he still manages to make a snide remark about Simon opening the door without checking through the peephole first.

Simon stares at him, words failing him completely.

“I haven’t been taking my pills,” Raphael tells him conversationally, and Simon snaps out of it. What kind of fucking idiot—

“You idiot,” he voices these thoughts out loud, because he’s allowed to now that he’s no longer technically employed to him. “I mean – you – I can’t believe—”

Raphael holds up a placating hand. “Please, if you’ll just let me speak,” he pleads.

Simon sort of wants to punch him in the face, more than letting him speak.

“It appears,” Raphael continues. “That I have _feelings_ for you.”

Simon freezes. He tries to keep a controlled demeanor, he really does, but those are the last words he ever expected to hear from Raphael’s mouth and he’s pretty sure it shows on his face.

Raphael proceeds to ask Simon to fix this.

“I don’t want to,” Simon rasps, shaking his head. He likes this. He wants this.

Raphael smiles slightly. “You’re insufferable,” he sounds fond, more than anything. Simon is still on the fence. All of this is playing out like a dream, even when Raphael continues to admit to his feelings, and the things Simon’s done for him, and the things Raphael feels as if he hasn’t been able to do for Simon. “I could take care of my company. I could take care of my employees. But I couldn’t take care of you,” he finishes quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Simon stares at the other man in disbelief.

He wants to yell at him – for making him suffer for days, years, if he’s being honest, for being so damn obtuse – for making Simon fall in love with him without meaning to, for being such a beautiful human being even though he’s repressed and doesn’t know how to feel correctly and he wants to tell him that he’s angry at him because he tends to blame himself for everything and he’s so blind to the love and affection he receives on a daily basis and Simon just wants to scream at the top of his lungs that he loves Raphael Santiago, issues and all, and he’ll love him for the rest of his life.

But instead, he reaches out and holds Raphael’s hand. Finally, Raphael looks up at him, looking nervous, and Simon can’t help beaming. His heart is doing an entire gymnastics routine.

“That’s why I took care of you, stupid,” he tells Raphael. “You spend too much time caring about everyone else you forgot – you’re important, too,” he breathes in. “You forgot it so completely that you thought we’d be better off without you and I—” he laughs, mirthlessly. “Just wanted to show you that’s not true.”

Raphael pauses. “You can’t fix me,” he sounds sad. “This is an internal battle I face day by day on my own.”

“I know,” Simon is quick to reassure him, because God, how he knows. And he will love him through this, not in spite, just because. “But there’s nothing wrong with a little extra wind to help you sail, right?”

And suddenly Raphael is smiling at him the way he smiled at Magnus Bane that one time, except this time it’s for him, only for him, and the light in his eyes is fire.

“No,” he says. “I suppose not.”

And then he kisses Simon, and Simon is alive.

**

Simon has been dating Raphael Santiago for a month.

He’s learned that he’s kind of a bossy bottom in bed, even though Simon has repeatedly reminded him he’s ‘in a convenient enough position to crush him whenever he’d like’, though Raphael only has something snarky to say in reply. Simon loves it.

He’s learned that Raphael kisses the way he does everything else: he’s careful and gentle and calculating, and his kisses are slow and deep and they drive Simon crazy but they taste so good he puts up with him, let’s Raphael tease him until Simon is on the the edge.

He’s learned that Raphael will sit down with a book and read and read and read until his eyes start closing, and he’ll hum happily when Simon comes up behind him to wrap his arms around his chest and kiss his neck, telling him it’s time for a nap.

He’s learned that Raphael likes to be held and Simon likes to hold him, and when they fall asleep together, it’s the pressure of Raphael’s back pressed to his chest and the feeling of his own arms wrapped around Raphael’s middle that lulls him into a peaceful slumber.

He’s learned that some days are better than others. It’s not all easy. Raphael still struggles with his self-loathing and depression and Simon is learning to cope with that, day by day. He’s learning to cope with the fact that there will be days Raphael will not care about him, as he cares for absolutely nothing. He fights through these days, because he loves Raphael, and this is what he wants.

He’s learned that Raphael will only stay still if Simon is mapping out his entire body with his lips. Eventually, he’ll demand Simon hurry up and get to the main event, but it’s nice while the moment lasts.

And, in the midst of it all, there is a moment:

“Come on,” Simon whines, and Raphael’s head is on the pillow and his eyes are closed. “We have to make the reservation under _your_ name.”

“That will only invite nosy advertisers looking to exploit me for my resources,” Raphael replies, eyes still closed. “I still don’t understand why you can’t put it under your name.”

“Your name gets us in tomorrow,” Simon rolls his eyes. “My name gets us in in a year. I’m not as important as you are,” he reminds Raphael.

This is when Raphael’s eyes snap open and he turns on his side to stare intensely at Simon.

“Stop saying that,” he tells Simon, and Simon raises an eyebrow.

“Stop saying what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve made yourself out to be less important than I am,” Raphael’s brows furrowed. “I once said you were wrong,” Simon’s trying to remember the moment he’s talking about. He’s done a lot of burying since they started dating. “You didn’t understand. But understand _now_ ,” Raphael brings his hand up to rest on the side of Simon’s face, and starts to stroke it with his thumb. “There is nothing more important to me than you.”

Simon feels himself blush all over.

Raphael’s expression softens. “And there will never be anything as important to me as you. Do we understand?”

Simon presses his forehead to Raphael’s, and everything around him fades. “We understand,” he mutters, pressing a soft kiss to Raphael’s lips.

Raphael hums in approval, turns back around and brings Simon’s arm with him. Simon presses his chest against Raphael’s back and buries his face in his neck.

And he says, without fear: “I love you.”

And Raphael says back, without missing a beat: “And I love you.”

And Simon holds him through the night, and he feels bigger than the world, wider than the ocean, higher than the stars.

He’s learned Raphael Santiago loves him more than anything in the world, and that he’s always looking out for him, and that there are days where he doesn’t mind holding Simon’s hand during their lunch, and there are days he doesn’t mind holding his hand as they walk out together. He lets people talk, but hardly anyone does, because mostly everyone approves of Raphael’s happiness; which, duh, he could have told Raphael a long time ago. This seems to come as a surprise to his boyfriend, though, and this is why Simon loves him so fucking much.

He’s learned that Raphael is kind and good and Simon loves him more than anything in this world.

And, most importantly, he learns he _is_ important. Maybe not in the grand scheme of things, but when he catches Raphael looking at him instead of the movie they’re watching, or he smiles at him when Simon repeats a ridiculous joke he read on the internet, or even when Simon is making love to him and Raphael says nothing but his name over and over and over again—

In these moments, he’s a giant.

In these moments, he’s important.

**Author's Note:**

> *gossip site voice* are you following me on [tumblr](http://www.westiris.tumblr.com) yet??
> 
> kudos and comments are much appreciated they motivate me to do things like this (sequels?? series?? what is this) and they clear my skin, water my crops, feed my family, pay for my tuition


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